<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>divinity by aureahlin</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845767">divinity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aureahlin/pseuds/aureahlin'>aureahlin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Gods &amp; Goddesses, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mythology - Freeform, Pining, there are mushrooms i guess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:54:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aureahlin/pseuds/aureahlin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tell me the name of god.” He says, voice ringing with confidence and conviction, sword pointed to the other man’s chest.</p>
<p>George laughs, a short mocking laugh and says, “can you feel your heart burning, Dream?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i have a physics exam in 15 hours</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Abesse</span>
  </em>
  <span> has existed eons before time was conceptualized, present for the creation of the universe, the end and the beginning of stars, and the novas they leave behind. Seeing, observing, never interfering. The universe’s personal voyeur. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Abesse</span>
  </em>
  <span> is surrounded by mushrooms, constant, omniscient, with ties to the land incomprehensible by the mortal mind. Unkillable in the sense that it is never truly gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Illudere </span>
  </em>
  <span>was made, blood-stained hands and deals struck with esoteric beings and sibylline prophecies. His godhood was stolen, taken and made his own. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Illudere</span>
  </em>
  <span> meddles, entangling himself in webs of relationships and mortal affairs, desperate and yearning for a connection lost so long ago. He is unkillable at the price of himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream is hunting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a legend, they say, of a god who can grant untold amounts of power hidden deep within the forests of his homeland. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dream won’t stop until he finds it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Abesse</span>
  </em>
  <span>, George now, it felt fitting enough, knows he’s coming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the middle of his ring the land speaks to him of a man with hunger in his eyes and determination in his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me the name of god.” He says, voice ringing with confidence and conviction, sword pointed to the other man’s chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George laughs, a short mocking laugh and says, “can you feel your heart burning, Dream?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Dream stalls, heat like molten lava flows through his veins, spreading through his body and into his every system. “Tell me the name of god.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can feel it can’t you?” He smiled, sharp and knowing. “You can feel it spread, the struggle within to keep you alive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me the name of g-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In an instant George is in front of him, sword flicked to rest with the foliage of the forest. “You don’t scare me,” the god says, leaning in to take Dream in, “The fear within me is beyond anything your soul can conjure.” He whispers and he sounds like beautiful danger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not scared of you.” Dream whispers into the night. “You don’t scare me. Tell me the name of god.” His voice is carefully steady, laced with deception just barely perceptible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George laughs again, short and sardonic when he says “you’re terrified, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leans in closer, eyes a little wild, a little daring because no one has made him feel this way in a long time. He leans in closer and he can see the smallest freckles creating fictional constellations and imagined supernovas. He leans in closer and notices the hard lines etched into the other man’s face and he seems far too young for them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George whispers god’s name, murmured breath ghosting over the other man’s lips. He says it like it’s delicate, a secret. “This is not because I like you.” He adds, an air of finality and he’s gone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Some way, some time after, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Illudere</span>
  </em>
  <span> decides to keep his name.</span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They don't meet again. Not until centuries later.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream is tired. Surrounded by the blood and gore of the battlefield, long after the winning army has left to celebrate, stands the lone god of bloodthirsty power. He hates himself for it. He’s tangled himself in the web of mortality and again has left nothing but blood in his wake. The price he paid for the power he stole. He doesn’t remember anymore, how to feel, be mortal once again but he knows he yearns for it. Connections made true knowing the mortality of life lived, such value placed on the smallest of items purely because </span>
  <em>
    <span>life is too short</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks up at the blood, the gore, the lives and the damage created and destroyed by the petty mortal squabbles amplified by his presence alone. He wishes so deeply he were someplace else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was the price of his power, hardwired into his being the moment he stole it. To long and yearn and want and to destroy everything in the end. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s raining now, the metallic tinge of blood and weapons attracting an odd sort of lightning to the battlefield wherein he stands. He looks up at the flashes of lightning, blazing hot and unnaturally beautiful. The lightning follows him wherever he goes, he’s come to see it as a friend, somehow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He talks to it sometimes, and sometimes, if he listens close enough, he can hear it talking back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you still doing here, Dream?” He whispers, more to himself than anyone else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not getting sick, I hope.” He jumps, hearing a voice from behind. He turns and sees the one who started it all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You.” He says in disbelief. Frozen at the sight of the man who gave him god’s name.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me.” he laughs and it sounds like tinkling bells and Dream wishes and wants so badly to hate him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sit in silence in the rain for a moment, the harsh water pattering against their skin. It’s different, Dream thinks, having someone in the rain with him feels offbeat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” He says, finally, after a beat of rain-drowned silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The entity beside him hums, passive gaze flitting over the scenes of the battlefield, “wouldn’t you like to know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Illudere</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He smiles, challenging and secretive and Dream’s never been one to back down from a challenge like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, using taken names, are we?” He teases, voice buoyant and mirthful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The deity steps closer, smiles full of secrets and pulls Dream nearer. When he looks into his eyes he can see a challenge, a treasure map laid before him waiting to be solved, a wager, a competition, and Dream was never one to lose. In his eyes he sees the stars, shining and imploding and creation in cycles of centuries. He sees the universe in him and he falls. “Tell me my name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Abesse</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The world whispers. “George.” He says, breathless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks up, eyes wide, and realizes George is gone, a small ring of mushrooms left in his wake. </span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>George doesn’t know why he did that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hasn’t given his name to anyone in millennia, mortal or otherwise. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why the hell did he do that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s pacing in the forest they first met and George doesn’t know why he’s brought himself here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>In his heart of hearts he knows why he’s here. He knows and it terrifies him, the power he’d just given away so willingly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, fuck.” He curses, pacing, pacing, ignoring the feelings he knows are bound to consume him whole. He doesn’t love, he can’t. After eons and eons he’s decided he wasn’t capable of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the curse of omniscience follows him, and he knows he can’t hide it all in the end. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit.” He curses to himself once again, whispering muted apologies to the foliage he’s stepped over and he can’t stop thinking about the battlefield, the immeasurable loneliness that seemed to cling onto Dream’s every move like tar. He can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to hold him close, whisper that he isn’t alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>listen man i just work here</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The woods where they collided is overgrown with mushrooms and assorted foliage, the growths following George whenever he visited. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You miss him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The mushrooms sing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you know it, Abesse.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no I don’t.” He says defensively, the foliage around his feet growing as if to shield him from the truth floating in the very environment he’s in.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s written in your heart, Abesse, you know how this goes. You’ve seen it time and time again. You know this story and you know it well. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly why I’m not, I don’t.” He says defiantly, “I don’t even like him all that much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then why are you here? Why have you returned, time and time again?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, I don’t go here that often.” He says, looking around at the overgrown foliage. “It’s not much different from when I first came here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pauses, then, the mushrooms leaving him to his own contemplative silence as he tends to the miscellaneous flora.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream wanders, and somehow he always finds himself where he needs to be. He stands at the mouth of the woods where it all began, in front of the one who started it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?” He asks, muted and murmured and whispered and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>here </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he doesn’t know how to handle himself. “Why did you leave?” He asks after one excruciating moment and they’re left alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here stands a lonely god, in fear in front of the love he’s gone so long without. Here stands a lonely god, deep in his own clawing desire to love and be loved in return. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“George.” He says, and he says it like he loves him and he can’t handle that. “George, please.” He says, pleading and he can’t stand it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream reaches out and George takes a step back. It hurts and it hurts and he doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the way Dream curls in on himself afterward, cringing in pseudo-physical pain, feels like a special kind of hell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least tell me why.” Dream pleads and every word is a poisoned dagger through George’s soul. “At least just give me that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And for the first time, in a long time, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Abesse</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn’t know what to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he runs. He darts into the foliage and he knows Dream is giving chase. The stardust on his cloak falls as he lands on the path laid for him. He can’t, he can’t, everything is too new and he hasn’t, never has, known love and it scares him. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands on the ruins of the battlefield where he told Dream his name. Dream doesn’t know he’s here. He knows he’ll find him eventually but he can’t keep running forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he sits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is on the battlefield and he sees the letters left unsent, burned containing wills and confessions from soldiers marching to their deaths. He sees goodbyes written in ink, stained with blood and tears and so, so much grief. He sees the sobbing image of a woman begging the heavens for her son to come home. He sees grief, and in that grief he sees love. He looks to the village and sees a mother knitting a sweater in her son's favorite color, it’s his birthday, after all. He sees a letter slipped into love’s hands, a promise of adoration sealed by a kiss. He sees hellos in the bakery, punctuated by laughter and the promise of meeting again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sees love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sees love and he’s afraid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a reason why he’s never loved, why he’s never indulged in the alluring warmth. It ends in grief. Always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is no other ending to the story and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrifies </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. He doesn’t think, he doesn’t know, if he could handle grieving Dream. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I told you I loved you, would you tell me you loved me back?” Dream asked him once, at a place like this, when George felt too exhausted to run away. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, god, yes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He so desperately wants to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stays quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” He whispers, just loud enough for Dream to hear. And he’s gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” Dream asks him, in a different time, a different place. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The traitorous voice in his mind whispers, it sounds too much like the song the mushrooms sing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want you, I want love, I want this, I want us. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” He says, moderately honestly. “I never have.” He lies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows what he wants and he’s afraid of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream finds him in the ruins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you.” He says settling next to him. There’s a moment of quiet, calm and contemplative.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you keep chasing me?” George asks suddenly, turning to look at Dream. “It can’t be easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You told me your name.” He says, as if it’s obvious, “I think that’s worth chasing you for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?” He says and he finds himself smiling, even the slightest bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Dream hums, delighted, and they fall into silence once again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream falls asleep in the hours after, and, to his own surprise, George stays. He goes, grabs bread from the bakery, and comes back beside Dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s sunset, it’s golden hour, and Dream is ethereal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I love you.” He whispers, dangerous, dangerous words lost in the wind, and everything is quiet again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a few moments when Dream wakes up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you.” He says, fond in the way that only the latest hours allow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Dream groans, “why are you still here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come on,” George laughs, “is that any way to talk to someone who got you croissants?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, okay hand them over.” Dream smiles, and it’s so, so domestic and George couldn’t wish for anything more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s quiet, it’s quiet and it’s lovely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why do you keep running?” Dream asks, finally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You scare me.” George says, finally. “Love it, it isn’t a feeling I’m used to. And even then I’ve been here long enough to know how it always ends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we have no end, do we?” He says, leaning in, “sometimes, maybe you should just take what you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And what do you want?" He whispers, breath ghosting over his lips. Wanting. Waiting. He asks because he chooses not to know, the universe's forever omniscient voyeur turns a blind eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kiss me." he murmurs against his lips, eyes blown wide. The entity forged from blood and war's hands are gentle when they cup his face, thumb brushing against his lashes. "Kiss me, please." He surrenders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He kisses him, and under the night sky there are supernovas and creations and explosions and two less than lonely gods find a home in each other. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/aureahlin">twitter</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>